


All Hope Lost

by icarusdusk



Series: throne of angst [3]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Book 3: Heir of Fire, Heir of Fire AU, aedion arrives in rifthold, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 04:49:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20718362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusdusk/pseuds/icarusdusk
Summary: Aedion Ashryver had tried so hard to find his lost queen. And he would not stop until he found her once more.





	All Hope Lost

Aedion Ashryver was exhausted. He was tired of playing the traitor, the king’s loyal pet.

And he hated that man with all his might. Hated Adarlan and Rifthold, all its commoners and thieves and exiles. Hated Dorian Havilliard for being such a self-serving bastard, and Chaol Westfall for being no better. But most of all, Aedion hated himself. Hated the fact that he played the role of the insufferable general to the man who had his family butchered; that he had abandoned his country and his queen. 

If only Aelin was still alive- there would always be hope.

Hope.

Aedion scoffed at that word. There was no hope left in the lives overshadowed by a king’s maddening hunger and greed for _more_. More land, more riches, more power. To build an empire on the milky bones and crimson blood of innocents. 

But as the Wolf of the North walked into that hideously beautiful glass castle, he did not let one bit of that loathing and fatigue show. No, he would play his part, protect his men, and conceal the desire to one day destroy that shadow of a man who sat upon his throne of glass. Even if he was so tired of it all.

Aedion strolled- more like _swaggered_\- into the Great Hall of Rifthold’s overly expensive glass castle, a smirk plastered on his face, the white wolf pelt bound across his shoulders. And his blood froze. The king lazed upon his throne with the airs of a man who did not fear. This man who had killed his greatest pride and friend.

His queen. His Aelin.

A booming clash of swords and shields announced his entrance to all, and Aedion let it numb him as he continued his walk. He stopped and stared, pushing away his hatred. The general smiled to that narcissistic bastard in front of him. And the Crown Ruler of most of Erilea, the controller of men and monsters and myths, smirked back with cruelty dancing in his eyes.

“Majesty,” said the Wolf inside of him. The animalistic, inherent _thing_that prowled under his skin begged for survival- even if it meant going against everything he stood for. Aedion sketched a bow, grinning like the mad general the King believed him to be.

“I expected you a month ago,” the king muttered. Frowning.

Aedion shrugged in reply. “Apologies. The Staghorns were slammed with a final winter storm. I left when I could.”

He could hear the way everyone in that hall held their breath. Even Chaol Westfall, the crown prince’s loyal pet, looked somewhat near pale at his insolence. He stood at the dais of the throne, ready to pounce should his king wish it. Aedion almost smirked at the thought. Westfall was a tiny, itty-bitty kitten compared to the lion that was Aedion. The boy wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

The king coughed, drawing back his attention. He asked Aedion of the whereabouts of his legion, to which Aedion shrugged and held back the growing desire to strangle the murderer upon his throne. He breathed in. To control the ire, the hatred, the immense need to kill the man who destroyed his family and kingdom. Who destroyed him. The teenage boy who wanted nothing more than to protect his younger cousin. His Aelin.

“Gifts from the North, courtesy of the last rebel camp we sacked.” Aedion almost vomited. “You’ll enjoy them.”

The king waved his hand at the small boy holding the satchel filled with loot from Terrasen’s people. His own people. “Send them to my chambers. Your _gifts_, Aedion, tend to offend polite company.”

And the court nobles, the king, had the gall to laugh. Even Aedion, who wished to empty the contents of his stomach across the polished floors, chuckled.

“I have a council meeting tomorrow,” the king continued, “I want you there, General.”

Aedion bowed, muttering his acquiesce. He would play the part of the intemperate, impertinent soldier, ready for when he could strike back. And then he would kill that man, even if it meant sacrificing his own life in the process. Only then could Aedion rest.

Chaol leaped down from the dais and walked to the table where the insufferable prince and an unfamiliar woman sat. Aedion followed close behind. If he had to wait to make his move, he could at least torment Dorian while he did so.

Aedion swaggered, he strolled, he strutted- like a gods’ be damned bastard- over to the table where the three were sitting. He schooled his face into an insufferable smirk. His signature look.

“You two were sitting at this same table the last time I saw you. Good to know some things don’t change,” Aedion said, eyeing the men. The woman, who he know realised must be the infamous Celaena Sardothian, pointedly looked away from him. “I see you’ve made an addition. You must be the esteemed King’s Champion.”

She continued to look away. Aedion almost frowned; he wasn’t _that_bad looking.

“I am,” she said, her voice lacking any hint of emotion. Dorian looked at her sharply, Aedion noticed, his face tight with worry. _Huh_, he thought. _Something has transpired between the two._

Aedion continued to play the role of the Wolf, the whore of Erilea. The man who was happy to bed whoever for pleasure. “Don’t worry- I won’t bite unless you want me to.”

Celaena didn’t rise to the bait. No part of her even looked to have registered that he had spoken, other than the tightening of her shoulders. So Aedion sat in the empty chair beside her, digging into his food with such heated enthusiasm. As much as he hated Ardalan and its blood money, they certainly had good food.

Aedion felt like he had to at least _try_to ease the palpable tension at the table. He turned towards Westfall, noticing the blotchy and discoloured skin upon his face. “I like the new scar, Captain.”

The King’s Champion almost jumped out of her chair. Aedion almost laughed. Maybe there was more than just history between Celaena and Dorian; Chaol was in on it, too.

“I should be going,” Celaena said suddenly, pushing away her plate. “I have some more things that are requiring packing.”

Chaol and Dorian stared at her before their heads swivelled to Aedion himself. The prince’s sapphire eyes widened imperceptibly. Aedion wasn’t entirely sure _why_, but he knew he could not let Celaena just leave. As she stood from her seat and made to walk, Aedion’s hand snatched her wrist.

She tried to pull away. He couldn’t let her.

“Let go of me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. What in mother goddess above caused her to feel so … saddened? Aedion’s eyebrows scrunched forward together in thought. He felt lost.

“Celaena?” Dorian asked gently. Almost reverently. There was _definitely_history between the two. The girl in question tried to twist away, to push off from Aedion. But then she stopped. Her eyes widened upon the Sword of Orynth across his back. He still had nightmares about that blade. Visions of dust and storms and blood. Of what it took to get his family heirloom back from the murderer and the thief who stole it. The very man who called himself King.

But it wasn’t that man who occupied Aedion’s thoughts. It was the young woman in front of him. He followed her gaze from the sword and back to her, finally able to get a good look at the features she bore. The golden hair that framed her fair skin, the golden rimmed eyes in a pool of turquoise. The very same as his own.  
And Aedion, for the life of him, could not believe it. His hand fell from her wrist. He gasped, soft and hushed.

“Aelin.”

Silence fell at their table, Chaol and Dorian holding themselves with bated breath. And then Aelin, his cousin and queen, turned and ran. She ran and ran out of the doors and to the gardens.

And Aedion had no choice to follow. He had lost her once before. He was not going to lose her again.

Aedion followed the path out of the doorway, ignoring the protests of Dorian and Chaol. Explanations could wait. He had to get to his Aelin.

Though she was fast on her feet, he was faster. His footsteps echoed on the beaten concrete path as he began to gain on her, sobs echoing from within her tiny frame. His own tears pooled in his eyes, unshed and yet present all the same.

Finally. _Finally_. He reached her, his warm, calloused hand coming down upon her shoulder. Aedion spun her around and she paused, looking like she was fighting something before her whole body slumped into his embrace. There was no light in her anymore, flickering out in but a split second.

“I found you,” Aedion whispered. And he knew he would never be lost again.


End file.
